


Mother's Gift

by LORBEERPRINZ



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Bad Future, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 23:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13798692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LORBEERPRINZ/pseuds/LORBEERPRINZ
Summary: In the blink of an eye, Morgan found himself at the end of the line. No matter how many strategies he had studied, he had never imagined this would happen, was lost on how to progress. And with the entities closing up on him, was there even any place for him left to go?





	Mother's Gift

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic a few months ago already, but forgot to edit and upload it... Technically, it's inspired by a certain set of Cipher cards, and a certain character in the new FE Heroes banner inspired me to finally go through with it and finish what I started.

In this moment, it felt as if the world around him had ceased to exist. Sounds were no more, apart from his own heartbeat and breath, both way too fast. Deafening.  
Morgan stared at the ground before him, dragged his knees through the mud to get closer. To see if she was still alive.  
He prayed to Naga she was still alive. 

But no matter how long he stared, she wouldn’t move.  
Sword still firmly in her grip, Lucina looked as strong and graceful as always. Had defended him like always, just as he had always defended her.  
But today, he had failed her, had allowed one lone Risen from the crowd surrounding them slip behind their combined defense to shoot a skillful arrow.  
One arrow. 

Morgan drew a little closer.  
He could hardly breathe, see, hear. His head was empty, throat bound in a tight knot.  
“…Lucina…? Please…”

This shouldn’t be happening. He didn’t want to be alone.  
He hardly remembered his parents, mother disappearing the same day as his father, the Exalt of Ylisse, had died. For most of his life, Lucina and her comrades had been his family. She had trained him with the sword, Laurent had shown him how to cast spells. Nobody knew where most of their former friends were.  
And now she was gone too.

 

The Risen around him drew closer, now moving again as if they had granted him a moment to mourn. It was over.  
Frantically, Morgan’s eyes jumped between his sister before him, the Risen around him and anything else, his tired mind overloading. He had to do something before these monsters came any closer and had the chance to defile his brave sister’s body in their attack.  
His gaze landed on Lucina’s sword.  
This was the only chance he had.

The hilt of the blade lay rather firmly in her hand, even though the assault had not happened too long ago.  
Morgan had to crawl through the puddle of blood that had formed around her head to reach it.

Finally, the teenage boy had gotten his hand on his country’s holy blade.  
He didn’t even know if he was able to wield it. They had never tried.  
For all his life, or at least for as long as he could consciously remember, his older sister had carried it. She was the one destined to receive it from their father, who had fallen at the hands of a mysterious entity. The moment the sword had been delivered to their hideout, everyone had realized the war was lost for them. Without a strong leader, the country had fallen into despair and been easily overrun by these undead creatures named “Risen”.  
This sword was all that was left of the brave man that had been their father.  
Lucina had been trained by him for a few years, had shown signs of being able to wield the holy Falchion very early, so it had been very natural for her to inherit it. After a long time of mourning, Morgan’s older sister had decided to put all her strength into it, to honor the memory of the Ylissean king. 

And now, it was suddenly in Morgan’s hands.  
Once again, he prayed. It shouldn’t protect him, he hardly cared anymore. He was alone now.  
But he wanted to get these creatures away from Lucina’s body, she deserved better than to be torn to shreds by soulless beasts.  
The knot in his throat was suffocating, but somehow he still managed to let out a scream as the young tactician darted forward, blade leaving a short trail of light.  
The Risen diverted their attention away from Lucina and rushed at him, as Morgan let out one scream after another, swinging the sword in every direction possible. It felt surprisingly light to him and the first time he opened his eyes during this assault, he realized that the Risen the blade touched did not bleed.  
Instead, they seemed to disappear into some sort of dust, one after another. 

They went at him with swords and lances, fists and everything they could make use of in their soulless minds.  
Morgan hardly felt the blows and cuts. He didn’t care.

 

He had no idea how long it took, but suddenly it was all over.  
Morgan stood on a small pile of clothes and armor, weapons and dust, breathless.  
His legs felt so weak, knees gave in.  
His mind, his body, everything about him was so tired. 

As he stared at the blade in his hands, however, only now realizing that it had turned out to be perfectly sharp in his possession, he heard footsteps in the mud drawing near.  
The blood and dirt in his face began to dry up and form a crust on his face.  
He could see a shadow reaching over him.

 

Now it was definitely over, wasn’t it?  
No matter how many books on tactical warfare retrieved from the palace he had read, how many notes of his mother he had collected and reviewed, studying them day in and out as the only real thing he knew from her, they didn’t help him now. He had completely left himself open.

But who cared now.

 

The Falchion’s glow was soothing and kind of pretty, but his arms were too weak to lift the sword.

 

The big shadow lifted an arm, Morgan prepared to be stabbed or beheaded.  
No matter how much he tried to convince himself that death would be the best option now, his hands shook. 

But instead of bringing the release of death, the hand above him placed itself on his head, patting his blue hair lightly.  
Morgan stiffened. Was the shadow just preparing him, for some twisted reason trying to ease him up? 

He breathed in short, fast intervals, so much that he felt he was about to collapse. Maybe unconsciousness before the actual end would be more peaceful for him.  
But then again, his sister had no chance to die peacefully, and it had been his fault in one way or another, so why should he get this luxury.  
Nobody in his family had died peacefully.

 

“My poor little boy… You fought so bravely.”

 

The hand kept going over his hair.  
Morgan didn’t really know this voice, could not connect a face to it, but it felt instinctively familiar. He didn’t even want to turn around, kept waiting to be killed as the shadow above him bended down, added another hand and finally a pair of lips to place a light kiss on the top of his head.  
“Don’t worry”, the voice whispered, “I’m here now…  
…Mama is here…”

 

The boy flew around, his tired legs lifting him up so fast he didn’t even realize it.  
He stared into the face in front of him, saw the silver white hair, the coat that was the same as his, just bound in a weird way.  
He knew this face. He had seen it many, many times in his early life and a few times later.  
Only later, it had just been paintings and prints in books. 

She smiled at him and opened her arms.  
He was against her chest just a moment later, not bothering to fight the tears anymore.  
Her embrace was so warm.

 

“Mother… Mother…!” 

She kissed him again, rubbing his back a little.  
“It’s alright my dear, it’s all over now. I’m here…”

“Lucina… Lucina is…”

She took a moment to reply to this, Morgan thought he could feel her sigh a little.  
“That’s indeed… unfortunate. But you see, this is how it goes. She fought well, I suppose.” 

Morgan pressed closer to her as the warmth he could feel from her turned into heat. Or maybe it was just his head becoming hot from the crying, but he didn’t care. Now that his mother was back, it was okay.  
But if she had arrived just a few minutes earlier Lucina would have never…  
He couldn’t stop crying. 

Robin pressed her son away a little, caressed his cheeks, wiped off some of the boy’s tears.  
Behind his veil of tears, this was the first time he noticed the red glow in her eyes, contrasting strongly with her calm and soothing voice.  
She felt along his shoulders and arms, patted some of the dust and dirt off his coat, tried to arrange it back to how it was supposed to be, how she used to wear it. She even took the extra moment to rearrange his pockets, reached into them to pat them out the right way from inside.  
She kept smiling at him. This was the smile he had missed for so long. 

“Don’t worry, my dear. Just come with us and it will all be alright again…”  
“Us…?”

 

More footsteps behind the two of them.  
Before turning around to look who had arrived, Morgan noticed something odd about his mother’s shadow. It seemed to grow, to become a being in itself, to take actual form and it even appeared to take on a sickly purple hue, similar to the weird markings on her hand. He had seen these markings before somewhere.   
When he did finally turn, the young tactician saw what appeared to him like a monster in a human armor at first. Sickly white in skin, a black crown that appeared to be longing to stab the heavens with its sharp spikes, stinging red eyes.  
But there was another distinct marking on this… being. Morgan knew it well. He had seen it countless times, looking into his sister’s eyes and his own in the mirror.  
And he knew there was only one person on record who had had this on his shoulder. 

His mother smiled as the shadow grew further, but that smile wasn’t all too gently anymore.  
As Morgan looked at her, countless questions running through his mind he failed to articulate, she nodded.  
This couldn’t be true.  
What in the world was going on? 

The armored figure wordlessly stared at Lucina’s lifeless body.  
Robin sighed again. 

“Don’t worry, my dear. As you see, it is possible to resurrect our fallen loved ones, as long as the body is intact. I did this once and I can do it again if you wish. We will be a family once again and rule as we were meant to be by blood.”

Finally, Morgan’s mind began piecing the information he got together. At this point, the shadow behind his mother had taken on an actual form, one that grew bigger and bigger and darkened the sky.  
Grima emerged above them. 

The boy’s entire body grew cold in an instant. He had seen Grima before, the beast that had brought all this suffering and death, a being so huge it dwarfed whole countries, a thing nobody on earth seemed to be able to comprehend.  
And he also understood why his father was here.  
What they wanted to do to Lucina.

 

“No”, he whispered, “no no no no…” 

Another pat on his head.

 

Morgan stared at his mother, realized where he had seen the markings on her before. Suddenly, her smile didn’t seem warm anymore, but twisted and otherworldly.  
He stepped back, out of Robin’s touch, clasping Falchion’s hilt firmly.  
All of this couldn’t be happening.  
In his mind, he prayed to Naga it was all just a cruel dream.  
He wanted to wake up. 

The clanking of armor behind him started again, and at first Morgan did not dare to look where his undead father was going.  
When he did turn again, after a swallow and ready to face the reanimated body of the man he and especially his sister had held as a beacon of hope watching over them, he witnessed how this eerily pale figure bent over Lucina and picked her up. 

“Now…”

Morgan flew around when his mother spoke up again, instinctively held the sword out towards her. At this point, his survival instincts had teamed up with the tactician wits to tell him that even if these might be his parents’ bodies, their minds were surely not the same as before. If one of them even had a mind left to begin with.  
But even his mother was nothing how he had been described to him, even the warmth he had felt earlier seemed fake in the face of how she suddenly presented herself.  
That wasn’t his mother.  
This was Grima himself. 

Robin reached out for Morgan again, placed a hand on his hands that were clinging to Falchion’s hilt, carefully avoiding the blade itself.

“Put this down, it has no meaning anymore. There is no worth for this in our world.  
Come, my beloved boy, and let us all be together as one family, the rulers of this new era.” 

Morgan stepped back from his advancing mother some more, almost falling over the scattered remains of the Risen he had killed earlier. He hoped Chrom was not waiting behind him.  
Tears began forming in his eyes again.

He had longed to see his family again, despite all odds, and now his parents were here, against all odds.  
But they were not how he had hoped them to be.  
They weren’t the people they were supposed to be.  
They were not human anymore.

 

“Morgan, listen to your mother.”

 

He shook his head so hard it was almost painful. He couldn’t speak nor think properly, unable to utter anything but “No, no no!”  
Chrom put down Lucina’s limp body again after Robin looked at him for a moment, preparing his own, nightmarishly big sword. For a lone moment, there seemed to rush a small shadow of sadness over his red eyes.  
The boy swallowed. His whole body hurt, the dried blood and dirt tugged at his skin.  
He had always wanted to be with his parents again, but not like this.

 “I know what you’re afraid of”, his mother started again, “but no worries. You won’t have to die. Nobody would have ever had to die if they had just followed my ways from the start. Just be a good boy…”

 

“Liar…”

With no option left, Morgan turned and ran.  
He had no idea where to run to, but he knew he had to get away, neither his heart nor mind nor instincts wanted to stay any longer. His legs were tired and sore, yet he ran as fast as he still could with the bits of energy he had left, Risen seemingly appearing out of thin air left and right, instantly fixated on him.

 

When the boy stopped for a moment, hoping the horde of soulless shells behind him wasn’t all that close, he realized it wasn’t only them following him. He could spot a pair of blood red eyes staring at him from the distance.  
The young tactician knew, even if the holy blade in his hands could enable him to fight off the small army of Risen that had assembled on his trails, drawing closer with every moment, he would be no match for the reanimated body of his brave and strong father, clad in heavy armor, wielding a huge sword that seemed to have taken eerie inspiration from Falchion itself.  
It was like a fallen Falchion in the hands of a fallen king.  
He had no chance.

His own, holy sword escaped his grip and met the ground with a loud ring that sounded a lot more subdued in Morgan’s ears than it really was. He hardly even noticed Falchion was gone, had no time to think about it.  
The stampede of Risen coming after him trampled the undulling blade.

 

 

Morgan had no idea where he was running, every landscape looked the same after most of the human race had been wiped out.  
He knew he wouldn’t be able to run very far anymore, his survival instincts could only pump so much energy into his body. He could hardly feel his feet and legs anymore, but they were heavy nonetheless.  
There were the faint remains of a lone house somewhere in the distance. 

The boy took a leap of faith into the dark woods to his side, trying to confuse the Risen somehow and get them off his trail.  
Unfortunately for him, he landed right in a small trench that had hid away from his gaze under several layers of dead leaves. Morgan tumbled and fell, suddenly feeling every little twig that dug into his face again.  
Upon reaching the ground, he fell silent, made no move.  
Risen weren’t very smart and this was the only survival tactic left his head was able to come up with.  
Silently, he prayed to Naga. 

It worked.  
He heard the Risen drawing close, stopping, moaning. After a minute or so, they shuffled off.  
The alarming rings of Chrom’s armored steps were only far in the distance.  
Morgan waited for a few more minutes, trying to calm his breath, feeling like he was about to throw up.  
Finally, he rose from his grave of leaves and sat up again, bursting into tears.  
It was so hard to keep his sobs to himself.  
He was so exhausted. 

Over time, Morgan realized that he had nowhere left to run to. He had no idea where his other friends were, if any of them were still alive to begin with. Ylisstol was destroyed, everything was destroyed.  
His whole body felt hot and cold at the same time, giving him the urge to take off his tattered coat.

 

A little note fell out.  
Morgan stared at the paper, trying to remember where it came from, whether was a good idea to read it now, whether it even mattered at this point. His mind was too tired to make any coherent thought.  
He just picked it up and opened it.  
Slowly, he looked over it, trying to remember whose handwriting this was. It seemed close to his mother’s, which he knew from the notes she had made in all her books. But he wasn’t quite sure if it was his mother’s, or where the thing even came from. Maybe it had slipped out of one of his books.  
He stared at it, unable to read the familiar language and complicated, unsightly handwriting for a moment. His eyes wouldn’t focus.

After a while he managed to comprehend what was written on the note.  
There were instructions of some sort, having to do with Naga.  
Morgan sighed. Despite his prayers, he knew even Naga was no more. 

He swallowed deeply, too tired to come up with any other solution to his situation than following the instructions. The note didn’t specify what exactly they were for, but any member of Naga’s blessed bloodline should be able to use it and be granted help.  
Naga was dead, he knew it. Ironically, he hoped parts of the note were just a hyperbole and it would help even without the wyrm goddess. 

He hesitated. If this was his mother’s handwriting, when had she written it? Where had she gotten it from? He hoped it had been at a point where she had still been herself and not Grima.  
If she had ever not been Grima.  
He let the stick fall which he had wanted to use to draw in the mud.  
Was this try even worth something?  
What if this note was a false clue?

 

The boy took a few deep breaths.  
No. He shouldn’t distrust his mother. His former mother, that was. All he had ever heard and read about her had painted her as a compassionate and sympathetic person who had always put the safety and happiness of others before her own. There was no reason for all of this to be wrong. He hoped it wasn’t wrong.  
She wasn’t Grima.  
Grima was a different entity, having made use of her body and soul, Morgan was sure.  
Wherever it had come from, the note had to be there to help him.

He picked up the stick again, brushed some leaves away to make space on the ground.  
Morgan drew symbols he had no idea what they stood for, even though he had the feeling he had seen them before somewhere else. Still in fear the Risen might come back, he rushed the process with shaky hands, not caring what would happen in the end.  
Anything would be better than this.  
He just wanted all of it to end. 

After completing the drawing, nothing happened.  
The young tactician fell back to the ground, stared at his circle in the mud.  
Of course nothing happened, he thought, Naga was gone. If it had ever been meant to work, it surely wouldn’t work anymore now.  
He was about to cry again.  
Unable to come up with anything else to do, he picked his little stick up again, aimlessly wrote into the mud, into some of the free space in the circle.

 

_I’m sorry I failed everyone._

 

The symbols in the ground lit up faintly.  
“You haven’t. As long as you are still alive, there is no need to give up just yet.” 

Morgan jumped to his feet, feared someone had found him. But then again, that voice was neither his mother’s nor his father’s. The Risen couldn’t talk coherently, as far as he knew.  
Was somebody else still alive?  
But he couldn’t see anyone anywhere.  
He sighed. Maybe all that happened today had left him hallucinating. 

The night drew near. In the shadows of the trees above him, all Morgan could see was the little glowing of the circle to his feet, but he was sure he was just imagining that as well.  
He was so tired.

 

“Do not fear, for I am Naga.”

 

Morgan rubbed his eyes. Falling asleep now would be deadly sure, but maybe sleeping through the end made it easier.  
“Naga is dead…”, he argued with what he believed was a voice in his head. At least it did sound like it was happening in his head only.

“I know. The one you remember was my mother, and I am continuing her duty. I’m sorry I was unable to help you siblings earlier, I was… living on this earth, you see. No, there is no excuse.”

The boy still did not want to believe this was anything more than his mind playing pranks on him, but no matter how long he stared and waited, neither the glow nor the voice wanted to go away.  
He pressed his sore hands into his burning eyes, as if the pressure could combat the pain and fatigue.  
The voice continued. 

“However, there is no place left for you here anymore. That circle you drew, I don’t know where you know it from, but I think it’s possible to channel some of the strength my mother left for me to help you out. If you wish so, that is. I can’t keep you from dying if you rather want to stay here, but remember, there is no one left waiting for you. Don’t fall into Grima’s trap, please.”

 

Morgan listened to this voice and although it was unfamiliar, it was soothing and warm, brimming with care. He wanted to trust it.  
After all, he had no other options left.  
The boy took a deep breath, then stepped forward into the circle. He threw his tattered coat away into the darkness.  
He rose his head in hope to see the stars one last time, but it was impossible to find the sky through the thick branches above him. Maybe it was better this way. If the sky would not show any stars, just like in most nights during his life so far, he would just be disappointed. 

The glow intensified, warmth rose from beneath Morgan’s feet.  
He almost felt like the ground below had disappeared. 

After a few moments, the light was so intense he couldn’t see anymore.  
A strange humming rushed through his head, deafening him. His inner eye showed scenes of the earlier encounter with his lost mother and father. He longed so much to see them again in their normal states, as the people he knew that had loved him.

 

 

And yet, whatever was happening now, he somehow felt he was abandoning his family, his friends.  
Who were his friends again?  
It was hard to recall any faces.  
“I’m sorry, mother…” 

Afraid and confused over what was happening, his mind, which felt detached from his body somehow, played him scenes that had never happened.  
What if any of this had never happened? What if his family had never met such a fate?  
What if he had studied tactics night after night, with his mother at his side? With his father and sister coming to check on them sometimes?  
What did his father’s face look again?  
He couldn’t find one. It was like he was fading away. Lucina was fading away until she wasn’t even a name anymore.

 

“Please don’t leave me too, mother!”

 

 

Then it was all white again.

 

When Morgan came back to his senses, there was no dark sky. No mud, no pain.  
Crystal clear grounds all around him, sparkling like ice. He tried to recall what had just happened, but the more he thought about it, the blurrier the image in his head became. All he knew was that it somehow had to do with his mother.  
But he understood that things were different now. He had a new coat, a clean face, the pain was gone. But the second he realized that he began wondering if it had ever been different before. 

The boy stood up to look around.  
After a moment of marveling at this magnificent yet very foreign scenery, he jumped at the sound of slow shuffling behind him.  
There were… beings.  
He couldn’t remember what they were called, but instinctively knew they were dangerous. He began running, always in fear to slip off the icy ground into what seemed like a bottomless pit of darkness. The beasts weren’t very fast, luckily, but his almost irrational fear of them made Morgan’s legs run on their own as he kept checking behind him if they were still there.

 

If only his mother was there.  
He stopped.  
Taking a deep breath, the young tactician tried to calm himself. He found a tome in his bag, squeezed it to his chest.

_Calm down, Morgan. What would mother do?_

 

Steps behind him, probably more enemies.  
What would mother do…?

 

There was a voice, strangely familiar, but without a face.  
“You there! Are you alright? Don’t worry, we’re here to help you!” 

Turning around, Morgan saw a man clad in blue, a quite diverse group of people behind him. Someone rushed to his side.  
Morgan couldn’t believe his eyes.  
He had never been happier before. 

He rushed to meet the two, both of which backed away a little in surprise.  
Morgan didn’t care. There she was, the only person left in his mind, the only person that mattered. He had finally found her again.

 

 

“Mother!!”


End file.
